"I can ignore the tabloids. When a co-worker does it? Or someone like Hildy, who's posturing instead of listening to what I have to say? It's a declaration of war."
"Why would Hildy want to go to war with you?" Mia slowed down and grabbed Finn's wrist to keep him beside her.
He took another deep breath and matched his strides to hers. "Because I rejected some of her line changes, too. Writers are a pain in the ass. Always think every word they write is a perfect gold nugget. God forbid you change one word in a sentence. Which is why my agent put that clause in the contract."
"You must have ESP or something," she said, trying to lighten the mood.
His shoulders finally relaxed a little. "Nope. I've been in enough films to know how it works. This one is too important to screw up."
"Too important? I thought it was a summer thriller. Good guys, bad guys, chase scenes."
"It is." He stopped and looked down at her. "It's important to me. For my career. It was exactly the role I've been waiting for. Which is why I'm not going to let those three clowns screw it up."
"You were very eloquent in your farewell." She bit her lip to hide her smile.
He scowled. "Hildy deserved it."
"So why does the phrase 'Pretty Boy' make you so angry?"
"Because it's saying I got where I am because of my looks and nothing else." His lips tightened. "Pretty Boy makes me sound like a no-talent idiot who can only stand around and look pretty."
"You're right. It's ugly and demeaning. Patronizing." She rested her hand on his arm. In solidarity, she realized. "Welcome to a woman's world," she said gently.
He stared at her for a long moment. Apology, and a piercing focus, lingered in his gaze. "Believe me, I know that," he finally said. "I want to shove a bar of soap in my mouth for every thoughtless, dismissive word I ever said to a woman." The anger leached from his expression and he half-smiled. "On the positive side, I've discovered I'm trainable."
"Good to know," she said, resuming walking down the hall. "I'll probably call you a lot of things during the next three weeks, but I promise those words will never pass my lips. Unless you completely cross the line and make me absolutely crazy. Then all bets are off."
"Is that your way of telling me you have a temper?"
"It is." She bit her lip to hide a tiny grin. "And you'd be smart not to test it."
"Now I'm scared."
She heard the hint of a smile in his voice. Thank goodness. She nudged him with her elbow. "You should be."
Maybe she'd teased him out of his foul mood. That's what she'd been going for.
Not because his words had plucked at her heart strings or anything. And what the hell were heart strings, anyway?
No, there was nothing personal about it. If he was all pissed off, he'd be harder to deal with. More stubborn. Less inclined to cooperate.
Teasing him out of his funk would make it easier to do her job.
"So I don't push your buttons and you don't call me Pretty Boy?" There was definitely a hint of humor in his voice.
She glanced up at him. The red had disappeared from his face and instead of a clenched jaw, he was smiling. "Deal," she said.
"You're on." He whipped his phone out of his pocket and stabbed at a key. Moments later, he said, "Pete? We're ready to go. How close are you?"
Finn listened for a moment, then said, "See you then." He turned into the entranceway and stared through the glass door. "He's three minutes away."
"Okay. Then let's wait in the hall." She curled her hand around his upper arm and hauled him away from the large pane of glass that was the front door. Back around the corner, so they were out of sight of anyone passing on the street.
"You touch me a lot," he said.
His voice had deepened. His low tones evoked thoughts of a five o'clock shadow scraping over sensitive skin. The rasp of calloused fingers catching on strands of hair.
She dropped his arm like it was on fire. He raised his other hand, letting his fingers drift over the spot where she'd gripped him. Then he caught her gaze. "Are you always this touchy-feely?"
She was, but he didn't need to know that. "I'm your girlfriend, remember? Can't keep my hands off you." She swallowed the saliva that had pooled in her mouth and forced herself to smirk up at him. "What was it you said? 'Sell the premise, sell the bit?'"
"You're doing a damn good job selling the premise," he muttered.
"Guess I'll rock it in those extras scenes, then," she shot back.
His mouth twitched as he stared down at her. "I predict you'll draw every eye on the set. If you ever get tired of being a cop, you could find acting work."
She had to suppress the shiver of distaste. Pretending to be someone she wasn't? Putting up a façade, letting other people dictate what she could and couldn't do? "No, thanks. I'm a cop. Period." A detective, she reminded herself, if she could keep Finn safe for three weeks.
Before he could reply, two short blasts from a car horn came from in front of the building. "That's Pete," he said. "Let's go."
The sidewalk in front of the studio was deserted, although people turned into the building across the street. A woman exited, holding a cup of coffee, followed by another woman holding coffee. A coffee shop. Good to know there was one close by.
She hurried Finn to the car, watched him slide across the seat, and followed him inside. As Pete pulled away from the curb, he started raising the thick plastic divider between the front and rear seats.
Mia leaned forward. "Hold it a moment, Pete. I need your phone number."
"I was kind of surprised you didn't ask for it earlier," he said.
"Yeah. My mistake. I guess my subconscious wasn't too concerned that you'd hurt Finn."
"Shows what your subconscious knows." He jerked his head in Finn's direction. "I kick his ass regularly. Until he's begging for mercy."
She rested her arm on the divider and glanced at Finn, who was scowling at both of them. "My guess?" she said, biting her lip to keep from smiling. "He asks for it regularly."
"You got that right," the driver said. Pete extended a fist, which she bumped. He turned a corner and waved her back from the divider. "I'm putting up the screen. I don't want to listen to him whine about his meetings."
"Wait," Mia said. "Phone number first."
He rattled it off, she typed it in and read it back to him and hit 'save.' "Thanks, Pete."
As she slid backwards on the seat, the divider rose silently in front of them. The tiny pop of suction when it sealed made the back seat feel like a small cocoon of privacy. No one could see into the car back here. Pete could see them, but she guessed he kept his eyes on the road.
In this tiny, secret world, separated from the real one by smoky glass and sound-proof windows, so many things could happen. Silly things. Crazy things.
She glanced at Finn out of the corner of her eye, remembering the solid feel of his chest. The strength in his hands. The clean, masculine scent that swirled in the air around him.
Sexy things could happen back here.
Feeling heat flush over her skin, Mia pulled the notebook out of her blazer pocket and scribbled some nonsense on a blank page. She used that ruse with suspects when she was trying to unsettle them.
This time, she was trying to settle herself down.
Finn sat beside her, watching the jerky movements of her pen. Did he suspect that the thought of being alone with him in the back of his car was…bothering her? Or did he only see the business-like image she was trying so hard to project?
She'd never know, so she'd kept her head down and wrote until she was sure she'd wrapped the remnants of her composure around herself. Then, taking a deep breath, she tapped the notebook back into its pocket.
"What's next?" she asked.
"I don't have any meetings for the rest of the day." He stretched his legs out and leaned against the door, watching her. "Let's go to the Art Institute. I've heard it's a world-class museum. I might not have time to see it once filming star
ts."
"You want to go to the Art Institute?" Her voice rose, and she stared at him, her stomach twisting. So many things could go wrong in a public place. Crowds of people. Finn staring at paintings, not paying attention. Impossible to notice if someone was following them. "It'll be crowded, because it always is. People are going to recognize you. It will be a disaster."
"Nah, it won't. I'll wear my disguise, the one I wore yesterday. It'll be fun." He grinned, as if he were planning a prank. Or an escape.
She hated to be the killjoy. The party pooper. And he was right. He was going to be busy for three straight weeks. So why not let him have some fun today?
Because someone was stalking him. It wouldn't be much fun if he ended up getting hurt.
But his stalker couldn't possibly know he'd go to the Art Institute. "All right," she said reluctantly. "I want to say no. I'd rather you went back to your suite. But what the hell. Let's give it a try."
"Thank you," he said quietly. "I promise to behave myself."
She wasn't the only one who was trapped by this assignment, she realized. He was equally imprisoned. He couldn't go anywhere by himself. He had a stranger living with him, constantly telling him what to do, scrutinizing his every move.
She'd feel suffocated. Like she was caught in a cobweb and couldn't tear herself free of its sticky threads. After a few days, she'd be foaming at the mouth with the need to get away.
"Have Pete swing by the hotel. He can go to your room and grab your disguise. Tell him to put it in a bag so no one can see what he's carrying. You can change in the car."
His whole face lit up. "I think I'm in love."
"I think you're out of your mind," she muttered.
* * *
Two hours later, they still hadn't been spotted. His baggy khakis, ridiculous plaid shirt and scuffed running shoes made him look like a suburban father. The ball cap he'd pulled low over his forehead hid the upper half of his face. And the big, black-framed glasses gave him an owlish look. Even Mia was forced to admit his disguise was a good one.
He'd moved smoothly from one painting to the next, not lingering too long in front of any of them. Until they got to Edward Hopper's 'Nighthawks.' He stared at it for a long time. Mia glanced around, saw a few people smiling at his absorption with the painting, and she grabbed his hand. Tugged him toward the next room.
"Hey," he said. "I wasn't done looking at that."
"Yes, you were," she said grimly. "You're drawing a crowd." And, based on the excited hum of the voices behind them, she was afraid someone in the group had recognized him.
He glanced over his shoulder one last time before he turned into the next room. "I like that painting. The idea of being invisible. I was looking forward to seeing it."
"And you just did. Time to move on."
"Haven't you ever thought about being invisible?" he asked.
"I mostly am," she said. When she was in uniform, she was a cop. That was all. And when she wasn't? She drew her share of attention, but it was easy to ignore.
"I'm never invisible. And sometimes, it would be nice. Like those people in 'Nighthawks.' No one caring who you are or what you're doing. Able to sit anywhere you like."
"You say that now," she said lightly. "But you wouldn't have gone into acting if you didn't want to be noticed. You'd probably wither up and die without attention."
One corner of his mouth quirked up. "Yeah, probably. Eventually. But once in a while, anonymity would be a gift."
"I don't think you can have it both ways," she said.
"Then maybe I'll have to get an invisibility cloak. Like in the Harry Potter books."
"You read them?"
"Of course I did. They were great books. Well-written." He narrowed his eyes. "Why do you sound so shocked?"
She lifted one shoulder. "Hard to imagine you reading a book, I guess."
They'd moved back into the flow of traffic, but he stopped dead. Several people shot them dirty looks as they eased past them. One studied them as he passed. Mia moved closer to Finn. "Officer Donovan, are you implying that I'm a lightweight? That I don't read? I'm horrified."
"Stop it. People are watching."
"Let them. All they'll see is a sloppy guy with thick glasses and a ball cap on his head."
"Sooner or later, someone's going to recognize you," she whispered through clenched teeth. She suspected someone already had. "Especially if everyone's looking at you because you're blocking their way."
"People see what they expect to see," he retorted. "Right now, they see a nerdy guy having a fight with his girlfriend. That's all. Why would they think that guy is Finn O'Rourke?"
"Because you are far more beautiful than the usual nerdy guy who wanders around the art museum. Believe me, they'll look twice."
Instead of arguing further, Finn grabbed her hand, intertwined their fingers and started moving again. "You think I'm beautiful, huh?" He grinned down at her. "Nice to know, Officer. And just for the record? You're not so bad yourself."
Chapter 6
Finn watched Mia sputter, red-faced. His grin widened, and he turned his head so she wouldn't see his smile.
He'd flustered her. Finally.
He'd been tossing out little innuendos all morning. Crossing the line for a moment, then stepping back. She'd been so cool. So unflappable. So in control, that he couldn't help himself. He wanted a glimpse of the real woman hiding behind that façade.
The unruffled way she'd deflected his every effort had made him try even harder.
And him? He'd been flustered since the moment he opened the door and found her on the other side. She'd walked into his room like she owned it, and her poise and confidence had intrigued him immediately. So had her lack of reaction to him.
Most women were a little star struck when they met him. A little rattled. And yeah, it made him a jerk to notice that, but it was true.
Since she'd walked into his hotel suite, he'd been trying to figure out what made her tick. And her apparent immunity to his charm had only sharpened the challenge. He'd been determined to crack her self-control.
Sometime during the day, trying to get a rise out of her had turned into awareness. Then attraction.
At some point, he'd found himself leaning close to her, savoring her scent, focusing too much on the touch of her hands on his skin. When he realized what he was doing, it had taken all his acting skills to pretend to be unaffected. To hide his interest, he'd yanked her chain even harder.
Now, walking down the high-ceilinged corridors of the Art Institute, she was as unsure, as awkward, as he'd felt all day. He intended to milk every moment of it.
Maybe she wasn't as immune to him as she pretended to be.
"So," he said, gripping her hand more tightly. "Beautiful, huh?"
Her shoulders snapped back. She took a deep breath. And when she glanced at him, her eyes were unreadable again. "Fishing for compliments, O'Rourke?" She snorted. "You see yourself in the mirror every day. You know what you look like. That's all I was saying."
"And here I thought it was personal. That you thought I was beautiful."
"Of course I think you're attractive. A woman would have to be blind not to notice how you look." Her eyes were as cool as her voice when she glanced at him. "But beauty isn’t everything. Other stuff is more important to me."
"Such as?"
She didn't hesitate. "A sense of humor. Honesty. Integrity. They're all more important than good genes." She glanced at him again. "So is honor."
It felt as if she'd punched him in the gut. "Are you implying I lack those qualities?" His voice went flat. He'd thought Mia might be different from the millions of people who'd already judged him.
"Not at all," she answered, no hesitation in her voice. "I don't know you well enough to speculate." She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and slid her hand away from his. "But I'm betting I will by the end of the next three weeks."
"You think so?" He glanced at her again. "You think you'll know ev
erything about me by the time this job's over?"
"Of course not. No one ever knows everything about another person, even when they've been in an intimate relationship for years." She slowed her pace and studied him for a long moment. "I'm living with you for the next three weeks. Twenty-four seven. Nowhere you can go to escape me. Nowhere I can hide from you. So, yeah. I'm guessing we'll know each other pretty well by then. The important stuff, anyway."
Finn grabbed for her hand again, trying not to think of all the ways he'd like to get better acquainted in the coming weeks. "I guess we'll find out, won't we?"
She tried to pull her hand away, but he tightened his grip. "Don't forget: selling the premise here, Officer," he said, no longer teasing. "So you need to look smitten."
He looked down the long corridor and his mouth tightened. "There's an official-looking woman coming toward us. Staring at me. And not in a good way."
Without looking for the woman, Mia's face softened into the silly, giggly girl she'd been at the studio. "How close?" she asked. The fingers of her right hand fluttered around the bottom of her jacket, as if she was trying to straighten it. He already knew better than that.
"Ten feet."
"Right." He felt her draw in a deep breath. The woman was five feet away now.
She turned into him, so that her right arm was in front of her body. "Oh, baby," she said in a high, breathless voice. "When you're so close to me, it's hard for me to walk straight. Are you trying to sweep me off my feet?"
He bit his lip to keep from laughing out loud. Instead, he bent his head closer to hers. "Of course I am," he breathed into her ear. "Is it working?"
Her sudden, tiny gasp had him tightening his grip on her hand. He moved closer, until his hip was bumping hers.
"Definitely," she murmured. Her low voice rippled over his skin like a caress and made him shiver. "That woman is buying us, hook, line and sinker."
He was an idiot. Mia was playing her role. Nothing more. But she'd worked him up. So as the woman got closer, he bent and nibbled on Mia's ear. "Good. Here's more for her to look at."
Protect Me Page 5